That Marriage Business
by S. Faith
Summary: Hugh has a little good news to go with Mark and Bridget's. Movie universe with ongoing original character.
1. Part 1 of 3

**That Marriage Business**

By S. Faith, 2009

Words: 20,743 (Part 1: 8,183)  
Rating: T / PG-13  
Summary: Hugh has a little good news to go with Mark and Bridget's.  
Disclaimer: Isn't mine. Well… except for Hugh.  
Notes: Well, I had to eventually touch on this… :) Hearts as always to C.

* * *

"Are you nervous?"

From her prone position on the chair, she furrowed her brows. "Why should I be nervous?"

He squeezed her hand, looked to where he held it in his. It was impossible to believe her stomach wasn't flipping like mad. "It's a big day," he replied, raising his eyes to look at her.

"Really, there's nothing to be nervous about," she said. "It isn't as if they're cutting me open."

He chuckled, his anxiety dispersing a little. She was good at doing that. "But we should know for sure today. One way or another."

"Yes," she said. "Not that it really matters, deep down."

"Oh, of course," he said quickly. "As long as the little one is healthy."

She grinned. Never once did she doubt his sincerity in this statement, and he was thankful for that; he would be happy with either sex, but felt himself longing for a son, and she knew it. She had been quite vocal, however, in her proclamation that the baby was certain to be a girl.

The door to the exam room swung open and the doctor, a dark-haired woman, came in, holding a clipboard and smiling. "Well hello, Bridget, Mark; nice to see you."

"Hello, Dr Ravi," said Bridget.

"How are you feeling?"

"Excited," she said.

"And a little nervous," added Mark. He watched as Bridget pursed her lips to stifle a chuckle.

"Nothing to be nervous about," said Dr Ravi. "All indications are that everything is going smoothly, that the baby's healthy. But we like to take a look now and again."

She smiled, glancing to Mark. This wasn't her first ultrasound but he did not feel any calmer.

"But we get to learn if it's a boy or a girl, right?" she asked, anticipating his question.

"We're going to try," the doctor said. "Sixteen weeks with the equipment we have should be good enough, provided the little one is cooperative."

"What do you mean?" asked Mark, a surge of adrenaline rushing through him.

"Nothing nefarious, I assure you," said the doctor with a chuckle. "If he or she is turned the wrong way, we just won't be able to tell." She lifted the lower hem of Bridget's shirt, pushed down the elastic waistband of her cotton slacks; her belly wasn't huge but was definitely rounded. Mark smiled; he actually rather liked the way it made her look.

The doctor squirted the gel onto her abdomen, then picked up the scanner and used it to push the gel around. Bridget looked uncomfortable and squeezed his hand.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "It's just a little cold, is all."

Dr Ravi laughed under her breath, then rolled the scanner over her belly, looking to the monitor.

Suddenly, in the little triangular space, appeared the very distinct shape of their unborn child. Mark's heart nearly leapt in his throat with joy. "Like I said," advised the doctor after a few minutes of pushing the scanner around and observing what she saw. "Everything's looking fantastic. Developing perfectly and on schedule, and a good size to boot."

Mark looked to his wife, whose misty eyes were fixed on the screen. "I'm so glad," she said. He looked at the screen again.

"So you're interested in the gender," she said, a hint of teasing in her voice.

"Yes!" said Bridget. "Can you tell us?"

"I just wanted to make sure you really want to know before I go divulging that information." She turned to look at the two of them. He tightened his grip on her hand again. This was it. "Well. I hope you have some very nice names picked out for a little… boy."

Mark felt his eyes go round as saucers; he heard Bridget utter a sound that was partway between a laugh and a sob. He looked to Bridget with a broad smile then leaned forward to hug her as best as he could given their awkward positions.

"I'll copy the video of this to disk for you. Would you like a print of the screen too?" asked the doctor.

Mark pulled away to look at his wife; even with tear-streaked cheeks and reddened eyes she was the most beautiful woman in the world to him, especially with the way she glowed in her pregnant state. "Yes, yes," said Bridget; he seemed to have lost the ability to speak. "Absolutely."

Dr Ravi pressed a few buttons; they heard the printer kick off from the other side of the room. She pulled the scanner back then handed Bridget a small towel with which to wipe the gel off. The doctor stood and went to the printer and brought back a perfect little shot of their as-yet-unnamed son, then reached down and lifted a DVD up. Putting the disk into a case, she handed both of them to Mark. "There you are. We'll see you next time." She gathered up the charts and left the room, making notations as she walked.

His hands were shaking. He set the disk and the paper on his leg as Bridget straightened her trouser waist then pulled her shirt down. "Well, dear husband, you were right." She was grinning.

He rose, then helped her down off of the table. "I had no vested interest in being right," he said, taking her into his arms properly.

"But you're happy."

"Of course I'm happy," he said, "but I can assure you that a darling daughter would have been equally welcome. Especially if she's like you."

She laughed out loud. "I'm not sure you'd say that if you had a really long talk with my mother."

As they left the examination room some moments later, with his arm around her shoulders, he said, recalling their conversation from that day at the end of November when they'd discovered she was pregnant, "So. Andrew it is, then."

He heard her chuckle, felt her tighten her arm about his waist. "'Andrew Mark' I think would be best."

Smiling proudly, he leaned in to press a kiss into her hair. 'Andrew Mark' it would be, then. He couldn't wait to tell the world he was going to have a son—but thought, just for now, they'd keep their chosen name to themselves.

………

"Mark! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Mark grinned; after respective calls to his parents and hers, he was practically going through his address book to share the good news, and his longtime friend Hugh had been next. "Have an exciting update."

He heard Hugh chuckle. "Ah. This must be related to impending fatherhood."

"Indeed it does," he said. "We went to the doctor today, and found out the baby's sex."

"Oh? And?"

Mark smiled. "Boy."

"That's terrific," returned Hugh automatically, then added hesitantly, "unless of course you were dead-set on a girl."

It was Mark's turn to laugh. "I would have been happy either way."

"Except I know you, Mark. You've always wanted a son. That doesn't make you a bad person. Men seem to want a son to carry on their name. I think as much as we like to deny it, it's part of male human nature."

He thought Hugh might just have a small point. "In any case," said Mark, "now that we know, Bridget's going gangbusters for boy-themed things. In one breath she's going on about she doesn't want to gender stereotype, and in the next, she's looking gooey-eyed at little toy trucks and airplanes."

Hugh chuckled. "I bet she looks radiant."

"I'm hardly unbiased," said Mark, "but yes. She does." Mark paused for a moment, realising he had dominated the conversation. "So how about you? How are things?"

"Fine… busy as usual," said Hugh. "And I'm getting married."

Mark was sure that he had not heard correctly. "What?"

"Married."

"Married to whom?"

There was a pause. "To Anna."

He felt a poke on his forearm. Bridget had come into the room, surprise and curiosity evident on her face. She mouthed the words, "Married? Who?"

Still looking at his wife, Mark said, "Hugh. You're getting married to Anna?"

Bridget's eyes went round, her mouth dropping open.

Another pause. "Mark, I know you're a bit distracted lately, but please tell me you remember me mentioning Anna."

"Of course," he lied, "of course."

Bridget stole the receiver out of his hand. "Hugh!" she squealed. "You're getting married? When did this happen?" She looked like a giddy child on Christmas morning, her smile spreading from ear to ear, making high-pitched noises of excitement between rapid-firing more questions at his friend like, "Where did you propose? What sort of ring? Did you set a date? When can we meet her?"

"Bridget," he said sternly. "Stop bouncing around." He grasped her waist at the hips and sat her upon his lap.

"Oh, Hugh, I'm very happy for you," she continued unabated. "Yes, yes, we'd love to come." Her eyes glanced to Mark. "Oh, he won't care. See you then!"

She pressed the button on the handset to hang up the call, then turned and beamed at him. "How exciting!"

"What would we love to go to?" Mark asked in a playfully dangerous tone.

"Hugh's having a dinner party," she said. "An engagement party. Asked if we would come up for the weekend."

"Which weekend?"

"This weekend."

He was thankful, and she was lucky, that he had no pressing business on the weekend. "He can't possibly put us up on such short notice."

"He can, and offered to do so," she said, as if admonishing a dull-witted child. "It'll be fun!"

He wondered how fun the drive to Stratford would be when a jaunt to Tesco was longer than she liked in her pregnant state. But he could only smile and pull her into an embrace. "Of course it will be."

"Mark," she began, pulling back to look at him with a wry twist of a smile on her face. "You have no idea who Anna is, do you?"

"Hugh's girlfriend. Fiancée," he amended quickly.

"When did they start seeing each other?"

"Christmas," Mark guessed in a confident tone.

She pursed her lips. "Just before. Lucky guess."

He chuckled. "As Hugh said," Mark responded, running his hand flat against her belly, "I've been a bit distracted."

………

Mark spent a good deal of the next night planning the route to Stratford. He knew the way like the back of his hand, but he wanted to make sure there were places to stop and eat or use the loo along the way. He knew it would be necessary, because if he'd learned anything about Bridget and pregnancy, it was to keep the freezer stocked with chocolate ice cream, the pantry with lots of Branston pickle, and to keep a loo within sight at practically all times.

She had gone to lie down after supper, and when he was finished, he went upstairs to see how she was. She was sitting in bed reading, the book propped on her belly, before she looked up to him. "I'm fine. Think I overdid it. Sometimes I think there's not as much room in there for the stomach, anymore," she said, pointing to her abdomen. "What were you doing?"

"Planning our drive tomorrow."

"Ah," she glanced down again. "Figured it was something like that. Thought maybe you'd gone out for drinks and snacks for the ride."

"No." He sat beside her. "I'll just stop by the store on our way out of town."

She smiled. "Of course. That would be the most efficient plan."

"I'm glad you agr—" He stopped, seeing she was fighting back a giggle. "What's so funny?

"_You_ are," she said. "Your little quirks, which, by the way, I love, even when they drive me mad."

He smiled, leaning to kiss her. "For that I am wholly grateful."

………

They set out for Stratford on Friday morning, allowing plenty of time for a leisurely drive. With every small town they passed through, he asked if she needed to stop and stretch, wanted something to eat, needed to use the toilet.

"Mark," she said somewhat crossly after three such pass-throughs. "If I need any of those things, I'll let you know."

He turned back to the road, not responding. He felt her hand on his on the steering wheel.

"I know you're just trying to see to my comfort," she said, "and I appreciate it, I really do. I didn't mean to snap."

He glanced to her, and the sight of her, gorgeous and glowing there in the passenger seat, immediately wiped away any irritation he might have had with her. "It's all right."

She smiled back to him. "Though now that you mention it," she said, "I could use a loo soon."

He fought the urge to clench his jaw. Sometimes he thought they were such a good match because she seemed to drive him mad about as frequently as she claimed the same. "Yes, love."

By his calculations there was a village just a few more kilometres down the road, and he was right. They found a little pub in which they could stop for a snack; Bridget decided a plate of chips would be perfect, so he ordered them for her while she used the ladies.

"Where you heading?" asked the proprietor.

"Stratford. To visit a friend for the weekend."

The old man smiled, nodding in the direction of the toilets. "Lovely bride you have there."

He smiled. "Thank you."

"When's the baby due?"

"July."

He grinned. "It'll be a long summer for your wife, carrying that extra burden in the heat."

"That's why I hope to keep her indoors as much as possible," said Mark. "The house stays cool. Air conditioning."

"Lucky for her," the fellow said. "Though she might start to get a little stir crazy."

She returned at that moment with a confused smile. "Stir crazy?"

"Staying in out of the heat all summer," offered the old man.

She laughed. "Yes, I will go crazy if I stay in all summer."

"But you'll be—" he began, then stopped. If he said 'huge', she would not speak to him the rest of the drive. "—very pregnant by then."

She cocked an eyebrow.

"My wife was pregnant with our daughter during the summer," said the old fellow. "She was miserable. Stay inside if you can; take my word for it."

Bridget looked to him, then back to Mark with a smile. "I suppose I should consider myself lucky to have the option to go stir crazy inside an air-conditioned house."

"Let me get those chips for you," said the man. "Should be all fried up by now. Be right back."

They took a table and the man returned presently with the big plate of chips, a glass of milk for Bridget and a soda water with lime for Mark. He had a few chips himself and they were exceptionally delicious. Before long they were back on the road, before long they were stopping again to use the loo, and sooner than Mark expected they were hitting the outskirts of Stratford, passing the hospital in which he knew Hugh worked, passing through town, until finally arriving at Hugh's house.

"Captain Old Man! Nice to see you!" It was Hugh, grinning from ear to ear. Mark had phoned ahead to let them know their approximate arrival time, and so was ready and waiting for them. He had taken the day off. "And look at you, Bridget! You look amazing!" He reached out to embrace her. "Seems there's a little more between us now."

She giggled, hugging him back enthusiastically. "It's nice to see you too," she said as she pulled away. "Where's Anna?"

"You don't get to meet her just yet," said Hugh. "She's working. She'll be over later. But you know, that gives us some time to catch up. Four months along, right?"

Bridget grinned. "Thereabouts, yes."

Hugh held out his hand, hovering just over her belly. "May I?"

"Of course!"

He laid his hand flat against her pregnant stomach, moving it around slightly, his smile changing and broadening. "Things progressing along nicely," he said. "I'm glad. Come on, I'll take you to the spare room. It's right next to the loo."

Mark chuckled. "Very wise."

At just that moment a black streak shot across the floor and up the stairs to the second level. "Oh!" said Bridget. "Was that Wicksy?"

"Yep," said Hugh. "It's that mysterious time of day when he just starts zooming around the house. I've come to refer to it as 'The Hour of Scampering'. Which, strangely enough, happens several times a day."

"I hope he remembers me."

"Darling, he's a cat," said Mark.

"He'll remember you," said Hugh confidently. "He always does."

As if planned, when they entered the guest room, Wicksy was sitting attentively on the foot of the bed, looking expectantly at the three of them.

"You see?" said Hugh. "As I said."

Bridget walked forward, her hand extended to the cat, who touched his nose to her fingers, sniffing delicately, then pressed his head up against her hand. Bridget cooed and pet him, scratching under his chin and ruffling his ears as she sat on the bed. He purred, flipped over on his side, and let her rub his tummy.

"Be sure to wash your hands when you're done," Mark admonished.

"Oh, Mark, he's just a cat," she said.

"No, he's right," said Hugh. "I keep the litter box very clean but he does occasionally use it." At her blank look, he added, "You've had enough trouble with parasites. Just trust me on this one."

"Plus you _are_ still allergic," Mark added.

She deflated. "Yeah."

"I do rinse him down twice a week with water to help keep down the dander and such," said Hugh. "Anna's got a mild allergy so it really helps."

Bridget smiled again. "You're a good cat daddy."

"I'm sure he loves that," said Mark with a chuckle, sitting on the bed, reaching to pet Wicksy. At that moment, he rolled to his feet, hissed, and dashed out of the room.

Hugh had trouble containing his laughter. "Some things never change."

They headed back downstairs; Bridget planted herself on the sofa while Mark and Hugh went to the kitchen. "Want a beer?" Hugh asked.

"Yes, actually," he said. "I'd love one."

"What's Bridget fancying these days to drink? Must be tough… no wine, no ciggies," Hugh joked.

"Milk, actually," he replied as Hugh popped the caps off of two bottles of Guinness. "She can't get enough milk right now."

Hugh chuckled. "I suppose there are worse things she could be craving," he said. "I have some skim milk. Think that'll be all right?"

"I don't think she'd turn it down," returned Mark, "though strangely enough it's full fat milk she's taking in by the litre."

"I heard that," called Bridget's voice from the other room. Mark chuckled.

"You two," said Hugh, pouring Bridget a big glass of milk, then setting the container back onto the counter. "You're just… wow. Wonderful to see."

"Is there a sentence in there?" joked Mark, picking up his wife's drink.

Smirking, Hugh took hold of then raised his bottle and touched the neck of his to Mark's in a sort of toast. "I'm already happy. I just pray I'll be as blessed in married life as you are."

Mark smiled, and nodded in agreement. He was really looking forward to meeting Anna.

They joined Bridget in the living room. Her eyes lit up at the sight of the glass of milk, which she reached for with both hands, leaning forward.

"I dare not think what things will be like for my mobility in a couple more months," said Bridget, resting back again, "I already feel like a beached whale. Just think, in the sixth or seventh month I won't be able to get up off of the sofa on my own."

Mark thought again how opposite of a beached whale he thought she looked; rather, she had the appearance of a golden, radiant, earth-mother goddess about her.

"Mark," said Hugh quietly in a low tone. "Think you might have dropped the ball there." Mark realised Bridget was looking a bit hurt. Belatedly he realised she was expecting a verbal rebuttal of the beached whale comment.

"Sorry, love," he said to his wife. "I was just thinking…" he began, before telling her exactly what he had just been pondering. From the way she was smiling at him, the soft set of her eyes, he knew all was forgiven.

"Oooh," said Hugh. "I'm going to have to remember that one for future reference."

"So," said Bridget. "Details. I want details. I thought you'd met her at that holiday social thing at your hospital, but that's all I know."

Hugh grinned, looking unusually shy. "Yes, we did meet at the holiday mixer," he said. "She hadn't been working at the hospital long, maybe started a month or so prior. Our paths just hadn't crossed, because she works in hospital administration, and, of course, I do not."

"So when did this get so serious?" asked Mark. "I mean… Christmas wasn't more than two months ago."

"This," teased Hugh, "from a man who proposed to his wife after only—"

"Point taken," interrupted Mark. "Though you forget I first saw her naked more than thirty years ago."

At this Hugh laughed uproariously; Bridget turned deep crimson and threw a pillow at her husband.

"My hours are a little bit more on par with banker's hours now that I've moved up the chain in my department," he said. "I guess having a more regular work schedule means a more regular not-work schedule. Before I knew it we were spending as much free time together as we had." He looked pointedly at Bridget, then to Mark again. "I do hope you two like her, because I really do want to spend the rest of my life with her."

Bridget smiled tenderly. "You hardly need our approval."

"Oh, I know that," he said with a grin. "But it would still mean a lot to me, seeing as I know you merely tolerated Louisa, Mark." Mark recollected Hugh's first wife with no fondness at all as Hugh turned his eyes to Bridget again. "Maybe if I tell you she's a big Jane Austen fan that'll score some points with you…?"

Bridget beamed a smile.

Mark, on the other hand, said in a rather dark tone, "Does this mean we'll be watching that bloody mini tonight?"

Hugh and Bridget exchanged looks and stifled their respective laughs. Hugh mimed a zipper across his lips as Bridget teased, "Well, now there's an idea…"

………

Feeling slightly fatigued from the drive, Bridget had announced she was going to have a lie-down upstairs on the bed. Mark had offered to join her, but she simply smiled and told him to just spend the time with his friend. They flipped on the telly and watched some football, getting into good-natured arguments about which team was best, who the best players were and how badly each others' favourite teams would get pummelled on the pitch, until they heard a key in the lock. Hugh turned off the telly and went to the door to meet his fiancée. Mark rose to meet her, too.

She came into the house; Hugh met her with a kiss on the cheek and a smile. She was taller than Bridget, with short dark hair, hazel eyes, and a trim figure. Anna also appeared to be about their own age, which Mark approved of; he had hoped his friend's intended wasn't some kind of bid to reclaim his youth, and Louisa had really been too young for him.

"Have they arrived?" she asked, then seemingly spotted Mark just as she asked it. "Oh! I see that they must have." She smiled and went over to where Mark stood. "You must be Mark. I have heard nothing but good things about you."

"And you must be Anna. A pleasure to meet you," he replied, offering his hand for a shake, which she accepted.

Anna's expression turned to one of confusion, though. "I understood your wife was coming with you."

"She's upstairs," he said. "I'll go and wake her."

"Oh, no, don't wake her on my account," said Anna.

"It's all right," he said. "She's looking forward to meeting you, and it's nearly suppertime, anyway."

She smiled.

Mark went upstairs and smiled at the sight that greeted him: Bridget sound asleep under the covers, and Wicksy curled into a ball just behind her knees, fast asleep himself. Gingerly he sat on the bed beside her and ran his fingers over her cheek. "Darling," he said. "Time to wake up. Anna's here."

Sleepily she blinked her eyes, then turned to look at him. "Oh," she said, yawning and stretching such that Wicksy raised his head, showing his obvious distaste in both her movement, and the sudden presence of Mark. He however stayed put, even when Bridget sat up.

"Do I look all right?" she asked. "Is my hair, makeup all mussed?"

He raised his hand and smoothed down her hair, then cupped her cheek. "You look fine."

She pushed back the sheet and got to her feet. Wicksy did not budge. "Still, let me have a moment in the—Ooh," said Bridget, her expression changing to something indefinable; for a moment he thought maybe she had gotten dizzy, but her hand shot out and grabbed his, pressing it flat against her stomach.

His eyes broadened and met hers as he felt what all the fuss was about. It wasn't strong, more like a fluttering, and it wasn't constant, and as soon as it began, it stopped. But he knew what he felt.

She had tears in her eyes. "He's kicking."

"I didn't think—" he began.

She knew that he meant he hadn't expected kicking yet. "She did say after sixteen weeks."

He smiled broadly and pulled her close in an embrace. "I'm so glad I was up here with you," he said into her hair. "I don't want to miss any of these firsts."

She giggled. "I suspect he would have been content for me to carry on sleeping—that he wouldn't have kicked if you hadn't roused me awake."

He pulled back and wiped the tears of joy away from under her eyes, and smiled. "I'm still glad to have been here."

She smiled in such a way that told him she was glad too. "Oh!" she said. "They're going to wonder what's taking so long. Do I really look all right?"

"Yes," he replied. "You really do."

They went back downstairs to where Hugh and Anna were; the sound of their footfalls on the stairs caused the two of them to turn and rise from the sofa.

"Hi," said Bridget, her left hand on her stomach, her right extending to shake Anna's. "I'm Bridget, and you of course must be Anna."

Anna smiled, accepting the shake. "I am indeed. Very nice to meet you at last."

With ever the observant eye, Hugh asked, "Everything okay?"

"Yes," gushed Bridget. "Baby kicked for the first time whilst we were upstairs."

Hugh's eyes broadened and he grinned. "Really?" He bent as if to speak into Bridget's stomach. "You anxious to get out and get kicking for Man U? Hm?"

Mark laughed, and he slipped his arm about his wife's waist, pulling her close to him. "Oh no. Newcastle all the way."

"How far along are you?" asked Anna.

"A hair over sixteen weeks," Bridget said.

"That makes you due in…"

"July."

"That must be very exciting for you," she said pleasantly with a smile.

"Oh, _yes_," said Bridget breathlessly. She was clearly waiting for Anna to respond, but Anna never did. Hugh didn't seem to think anything odd about it, and in fact looked up with a smile.

"Had an idea for supper," said Hugh brightly. "It's a lovely, sunny day. Perfect day for a barbecue, and I've got some burger patties."

"Hugh," said Mark. "It's the end of February. It's cold outside."

"Where's your sense of adventure, old man? We'll be cooking over a flame. Well, gas flame, anyhow. What do you think, ladies?"

"Oh, that sounds marvellous!" said Bridget, clapping her hands.

Anna on the other hand merely smiled her approval; she seemed a very sedate woman, which seemed good for the outgoing Hugh, who had already experienced life with a woman too much like him. "I suppose I could chop up some vegetables for a salad, if you'd like to join me." She looked at Bridget.

"Sure."

Hugh grabbed a tower of preformed meat patties from the refrigerator, a stack of cheddar slices, a plate and a turner. After slipping into their coats, the men headed out to the backyard, where his gas grill sat ready and waiting. "Do you use this frequently?" Mark asked, pushing his hands into his coat pockets.

"I do," Hugh said proudly, firing up the gas. "Quick and easy, and nothing beats flame-grilled hamburgers."

Mark couldn't help but laugh lightly. "I've always known this, but it bears saying: you're mental."

"Why, thank you." He threw the patties down one by one, which hit the grill with a satisfying sizzle.

"So. Engaged."

Hugh grinned, not looking away from his task. "Yep."

"When did that happen?"

"You're going to think me terribly cliché," said Hugh, "but on Valentine's Day."

Mark chuckled. "Whatever works."

"If it helps it to seem less sappy," he said, "it was in the coffee shop at the hospital."

At this Mark laughed outright. "Hey, I suppose we can't all get engaged in the hallways of Inns of Court."

Hugh smirked, pushing the burgers around, poking them with the edge of the flipper; after a few minutes of this Hugh obviously decided that they were adequately cooked on that side, so he flipped each over one at a time. "Are you going to want cheese on yours?"

"Hm. Yes."

"How many patties do you want?"

"I think two will suffice."

"Bridget?"

Mark thought about her increased appetite lately. "Probably the same."

"Cheddar?"

"Yes. For myself and for Bridget."

There was a pleasant, comfortable silence as they waited for the patties to finish cooking up. "You know," Hugh said at last. "I don't think I have ever known you to be so transparent with your feelings."

"What do you mean?"

"Very different from the Mark I knew once," he continued. "Your utter happiness is shining through."

"I suppose I can't help it… and I have little reason to hide it anymore," said Mark, then added, "You seem pretty happy, yourself."

Hugh grinned, pulling the last of the cooked patties off of the grill then switching off the gas. "Burger time. Have some lovely whole grain cobs to put these on."

When they arrived back into the house, it appeared that all of the vegetables for the salad had been chopped and were already tossed in a big bowl. Anna looked up and smiled as she whisked something in a little pitcher. Seated on a stool, Bridget looked pensive, brows furrowed slightly, until she noticed their arrival.

"Everything okay?" Mark asked, wrapping his arm about her shoulder, looking down into her eyes. "Feeling all right?"

"Oh, yes," said Bridget. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" he pressed. "You looked—"

"Just a bit of a headache," she said sharply, telling him in no uncertain terms that she had no such affliction, and not to pursue the line of questioning any further. He was perplexed. Mark had thought, and it had certainly seemed, that Bridget had liked Anna upon meeting, just as he had; he couldn't help but wonder what they had been chatting about or what had happened whilst the men were out grilling. He suspected he would find out later.

"Oh," said Bridget, in a completely different tone, back to her old self. "That smells heavenly. I'm ravenous all of a sudden."

"My lovely little carnivore," said Mark, kissing her on the temple. He heard Hugh chuckle as he cut the rolls in half.

"It's the baby, I swear," she said in her own defence. "Greedy little starving thing."

"And I'm sure you normally despise cheeseburgers," teased Hugh. Bridget and Mark both chuckled.

"Here's the dressing," offered Anna, holding the pitcher forward. "My family's recipe."

Bridget picked it up, held the pitcher to her nose. "Mmm, balsamic vinegar and… oregano?"

Anna grinned. "Yes. A little basil and thyme, too."

Mark suddenly felt a little badly for the woman. They all had been friends for so long—Mark and Hugh longest, obviously—that their little in-jokes and banter had the potential for inadvertently making her feel excluded. He knew he would have to be more aware of their dynamic in future. It was very much like Bridget to pick up on that and to try to make her feel included.

"That sounds delicious," said Mark supportively.

"All right," said Hugh, handing Bridget and Mark a plate each. With the gigantic rolls he'd put those burgers on, Mark was suddenly not sure he could actually eat two. Mark reached forward for the salad tongs and grabbed a bunch of greenery for Bridget, then for himself.

"Salad?" offered Mark to Anna.

She grinned. "Yes, please."

They took their food to the table as Hugh served up beverages; a beer apiece for the men, a glass of wine for Anna, and another big glass of milk for Bridget. Hugh raised his bottle and offered a toast: "To good friends and long, happy lives."

Mark had to concede Hugh the point that the flame-broiled hamburgers were exceptionally delicious, but with all of that food, he found that he could not finish his second cheeseburger. He set it down, then leaned back in his chair with a satisfied post-meal sigh.

He wondered if his non-verbal communications were as transparent as his emotions lately, or if Bridget just knew him _that_ well, but as he leaned back, she leaned forward and grabbed the three-quarters-remaining cheeseburger he'd left on his plate.

Mark turned and stared at her in what he imagined was an ungainly way as she took a giant bite out of his remnant. Out of the corner of his eye, Mark could see Hugh trying desperately not to laugh, and Anna looking at him almost murderously.

She finished up the cheeseburger, then licked her fingers tidily. "I told you," Bridget said haughtily. "Greedy little starving thing." At her grin, Hugh could no longer hold in his laugh, nor could Mark; he saw Anna offer a hesitant smile, too.

They retired to the living room for more socialising. Mark sat back on the loveseat, and as usual Bridget sat beside him and curled up into the crook of his arm; she liked to lean on him, and he suspected she would like it more once her stomach got bigger.

Hugh apologised as he hovered in front of the sofa that Anna had taken a seat on. "Sadly, I did not think of dessert, but I have some store-bought biscuits if you're interested."

"If there's chocolate involved, I'm in," piped up Bridget.

"Oooh. I don't have room for another bite," said Anna, leaning back against the sofa. "But thank you."

Hugh returned with a tray, another glass of milk for Bridget and a platter of chocolate biscuits, which he set upon the centrally located coffee table. Bridget grabbed the milk glass and about four biscuits and leaned back into Mark's embrace. She raised one up in front of Mark's mouth; he took a little nibble off of it, as it only seemed the proper and right thing to do.

"I may need to run down to the market," said Hugh with a grin, sitting down next to his fiancée. "I'm just about out of milk."

"Oh, Hugh, I'm sorry," said Bridget after a particularly long gulp of milk. He held back a chuckle, seeing a milk moustache on her top lip, but it didn't last long; she licked it away.

"I'll go and buy it if you want," offered Mark.

"No," said Anna. "I'll pop out for some milk. It's no trouble at all."

"Let me give you a few pounds to cover the expense," said Mark, reaching back for his wallet.

"No," said Anna. "Don't worry about it. Least I can do. Anything else you want me to pick up?" she asked Hugh.

"Can't think of anything."

Anna stood up, smoothing down her trousers, and going for her coat and purse at the door. "Won't be but a few," she said with a smile before leaving.

Moments after she left, Hugh asked with a great air of anticipation, "So? What do you think?"

"She seems very nice," said Mark. Bridget was curiously silent, only nodded.

"I think she's nervous, meeting the two of you," Hugh went on. "She's not usually quite this, I don't know. Reserved."

"I'm sure she'll be more like herself once she gets to know us better," said Mark in an optimistic tone.

"Yes," added Bridget. "I'm sure."

Hugh's smile relaxed. "So, what's on the agenda for this evening? Stratford has its charms, but it's no London when it comes to nightlife."

Bridget patted her belly in a very subconscious, sweet way. "I haven't been much of a night-lifer since I got myself up the duff," she said with a grin, causing the men to chuckle. "You know us, Hugh. We don't need to be entertained. Whatever you and Anna like to do on your Friday nights is fine by me."

Hugh smiled. "Popcorn and a movie, perhaps?"

"I thought we said no BBC minis," said Mark in a mock-serious tone.

"No, I just picked up a copy of _The Lion in Winter_," said Hugh. "Katharine Hepburn, Peter O'Toole, Anthony Hopkins… dysfunctional family dynamics, scandal, betrayal and trickery. Really, what's not to love?"

"Sounds great," said Bridget wryly with a big grin.

………

Once Anna returned with the milk—enormously apologetic that she hadn't known to pick up whole—Hugh got the popcorn going, pulled two more bottles of Guinness out, and along with a glass of juice for Anna, came back into the sitting room to embark into what Mark soon found to be a masterpiece of filmmaking. He was utterly drawn in, as was Bridget, who was completely silent save for a request to pause so she could use the loo, and a comment about how Prince Geoffrey could have been a separated-at-birth twin of Mark's Uncle Nick.

Upon the conclusion of the film, it was a broad, unfettered yawn from his wife that made him realise it was getting to be a little late; Bridget had always been more of a night owl than an early bird, but with the advent of pregnancy, she seemed to need more sleep than she used to.

"Think we best be heading to bed," said Mark as she blinked sleepily and nodded.

"Oh, hey, of course." Hugh reached for the remote, switched off the telly and turned up the light level on the lamp. "You know where everything is, right?"

"Yes," said Mark. "Thanks."

"Mmm," said Bridget. "We have a slight problem." She looked to her lap, where Mark saw, now that the light was brighter, that Wicksy had curled into a ball and fallen fast asleep. He knew full well that Bridget wouldn't want to disturb him.

"Here," said Anna, closest to Bridget rose to her feet. "Let me take him." Anna reached forward for the cat, but before she could touch him, his head raised up, his whiskers in full array, and he hissed before dashing off into the dark of the house.

She smiled sheepishly. "He doesn't seem to like me," Anna said. "I'm still trying to get him to warm to me."

"He's a picky cat. It's just a matter of time," said Hugh, leaning forward to take her hand.

Anna smiled affectionately at him before looking to Mark and Bridget again. "Well, it was very nice to meet the both of you," she said. "I should be heading home, myself."

Mark was confused, and saw that his wife was, too. Anna wasn't staying? Before he and Bridget were living together, it was all he could do not to spend the night with her every chance he got.

"Very true," said Hugh. "Tomorrow's going to be a very long day, with all of the prep, the cleaning and the cooking."

Anna got to her feet, then bent to peck a kiss on Hugh's lips. "See you in the morning."

Hugh rose and gathered up the popcorn bowl, and the empty glasses and beer bottles, taking them to the kitchen as she let herself out. Once she was gone and Hugh returned from his task, Bridget asked, "She's not staying over?"

Hugh smirked; Mark thought it looked a bit sheepish. "You're going to think it a little strange," he said, "but we decided not to have sex until we're married."

"What?" returned Mark.

Bridget's eyes shot open. "Really?"

Hugh nodded.

"Was that your idea?" she asked, tilting her head, curiosity obviously getting the better of her.

"We both agreed on it," he said. "Thought it was romantic."

"Whatever makes you happy," Mark commented, then added, thinking of the long week of abstention just before he and Bridget were wed, "though you're made of stronger stuff than I am if you can last that long."

"Most couples can actually make it the distance between the stationery shop and one's flat," said Bridget with a wink to Mark. He heard Hugh sputter a chuckle.

"We did not have sex in the street," said Mark, feeling his face flush red.

"It's true, we didn't," Bridget said with a giggle, then got up on her toes to peck a kiss on his lips. "But it was touch and go there for a few moments, wouldn't you say?"

Hugh was too busy to do anything but watch the volley go back and forth and laugh. Mark only pursed his lips, which only made her burst out with a louder laugh.

"My poor Mark," she said, turning away to look to Hugh. "How will he ever get through the next five months?"

Mark felt like he had just slipped into the land of gibberish. "Get through? What are you talking about?"

"The baby, silly," she said, looking back to him earnestly. "Obviously now that he's developed enough to kick, it would be weird to… _you know_."

This was one conversation he wished they'd had sooner… and one he did not want to have even in front of Hugh. For his part, Hugh seemed to feel the same: "—And on that note, I bid you good night and sweet dreams." He shot Mark a sympathetic look before heading up the stairs for his own room.

Bridget yawned jaw-crackingly wide again. "I am knackered," she said wearily. "Come on, off to bed with us."

Lost in thought, he waited for her to begin scaling the stairs; he would abstain if that was what she wanted, but he knew it was going to be a long five months for him.

He slipped out of his shoes and socks, then dug through his overnight bag, looking for clean smalls to set out for the next day while Bridget did her nightly toilette in the loo; she returned with her face freshly washed, her hair brushed out on her shoulders, and a smile for him.

"What?" he asked, standing upright, clean boxers in hand.

"Nothing in particular," said Bridget. "Just love you, is all."

He grinned, his resolve strengthening to give her anything and everything she wanted. "Get your pyjamas on and get comfortable," he said. "I'll be right back, okay?"

She nodded, drawing the sheets back as he left the bedroom to brush his teeth and otherwise wash up for the night.

He returned minutes later to find the bedside lamp was on, and she was beneath the covers, had them drawn to her chin. He half-expected she would already be sleeping, as broadly and as much as she'd been yawning, but she wasn't. Her blue eyes were trained on him, and she had a subtle smile on her face.

"All comfy?" he asked, pulling the door closed behind him.

"Hmm, yes," she said, the smile broadening.

He slipped out of his shirt, then his trousers and boxers, folding them in the order in which they were removed and setting them down on the bureau, destined for the 'dirty laundry' side of his overnight bag. He then turned to join her in bed, but froze in his tracks at the sight that greeted him:

She had thrown the sheet back and was reclined against the pillows in perfect nakedness; she was veritably shining, full and rounded in her repose, smiling wickedly now. He felt his heart start to race as his eyes feasted on her every beautiful curve. At last he unfroze and spoke, or tried to. "Bridget, is this some kind of test of my willpower?"

She chuckled, raising her chin. "Mark, come to bed."

"Bridget," he said again, his voice nearly cracking.

"Oh, silly man," she said, patting the bed beside her. "I would have thought you'd know by now when I was teasing you."

He tried not to run to the bed and dive in, because that would have been uncouth (not to mention he might have tripped on his shoes), so he strode to the bed with great intent, sat down then slipped his legs under the sheets, and regarded her at close range before slipping the sheets over the both of them.

"Hugh must think you're the cruellest woman on earth," he breathed.

"Hugh saw me wink," she breathed in return.

With that, he covered her mouth with his and leaned into her. It wasn't the first time they'd made love since they'd learned of her pregnancy, but a small part of him had wanted her all the more when he thought he might not have the chance again for several months. Something about her that night seemed softer, sweeter, more lush, like a ripened fruit waiting to be plucked; she was somehow orders of magnitude more desirable than usual, which was saying quite a lot as that bar was pretty high under normal circumstances, anyway.

In his haste he nearly neglected to take care to account for her fuller stomach—which somehow seemed that much fuller since the last time they'd been intimate—but he did, and was abundantly rewarded for his efforts.

When she laid next to him afterwards, he could feel that fullness against his hip as she traced her fingers along his chest. "There isn't any way I could go until baby's born without _that_," she said, tracing her fingers to his bare hip.

"We may have to get creative as the months go on," he murmured in return. Reverently his spread his hand over her stomach. "To account for this."

She smiled sleepily, then reached up and placed a kiss on the underside of his chin. "I can't imagine you not giving it your very best effort, love," she said.

He laid there holding her, realised his lids were drooping, so figured he might as well switch the lamp off. He reached to do that, then held her close again, and with warm thoughts of their lovemaking fresh in his mind paired with the pleasant events of the day behind them as well as anticipation of more of the same in the day to come, he felt himself drifting towards the edge of sleep.

Except…

"Bridget?" he asked quietly. "Are you still awake?"

She muttered something incoherent.

"Darling," he continued. "Did something happen between you and Anna when we were outside?"

"Not now," said Bridget groggily.

He tried a different tack. "What did you think of Anna?"

No reply for a long while, until she responded:

"She doesn't love him."

Mark was so astounded by her response he immediately asked, "What? How do you know? Are you sure?"

However, there was no reply, only soft snoring.

Mark's mind was set to whirling, and as much as he tried to push down the thought he could not keep from comparing her words to Peter's pronouncement on the veritable eve of his own first marriage: _You say that you love her, Mark. I just haven't gotten the feeling that she feels the same about you._

More importantly, more troubling to him was: What on earth would prompt Bridget to draw such a conclusion? He thought back over the day spent in Anna and Hugh's company, trying to recollect some small clue, something she said or had done, that would have led Bridget to make such a pronouncement. After many minutes he finally decided that it must have been something that had happened while he and Hugh had been at the grill. He would just have to wait to ask Bridget about it in the morning.

It didn't make falling to sleep any easier.

* * *

End Notes:

A review of BJD (film and book, recommended read) by Cara Ann Lane / University of Washington, mentions Mark and his past relationship with women, which I found interesting and very much in tune with how I'd imagined it:

_However, the catch to this characterization is his tendency to be manipulated and controlled by the women in his life. While exhibiting his sensitivity and awareness of the needs of others, he is hesitant to stand up for his own desires. His mother and his law partner/girlfriend both make most of the decisions in his life. The film suggests his ex-wife, who had an affair with Daniel (one of the factors leading to this fight), exercised similar control over Darcy. Despite his generally mild demeanor, Darcy has a strong desire to be more carefree and independent. When he sees Bridget and Daniel acting outrageously while boating - splashing about, falling in the water, and shouting - he is envious of their ability to be so spontaneous._

I didn't make up "The Hour of Scampering". It's from _Babylon 5_.

_The Lion in Winter_: The in-joke here is that Prince Geoffrey was played by John Castle, who went on to star as Uncle Nick in Lost Empires… and became the model for my Uncle Nick.

Want actual links? See story on LJ.


	2. Part 2 of 3

**That Marriage Business**

By S. Faith, 2009

Words: 20,743 (Part 2: 6,986)  
Rating: T / PG-13  
Summary, Disclaimer, Notes: See Part 1.

* * *

"Hey sleepyhead."

It was the soft voice of his wife calling to him through the deep recesses of slumber. He was dreaming about weddings, dreaming that the church was filled with brides with no faces; slightly disturbing all around. He awakened, training bleary, unfocused eyes on her. She was already dressed, and had a cup of coffee in her hand.

"Hi," he said. "Everything all right?"

"Oh, yes, fine," she said brightly. "This is for you."

He pushed himself up to sitting, then took the coffee. "Thank you," he said, then took a long draw. "What time is it?"

"Ten." She smiled, reaching to comb her fingers through his hair. "You must have been tired, poor dear."

"Must have been," he said.

"Was it… anything I did?" she asked coyly.

"Yes," he said, suddenly recalling her declaration just before falling off to sleep. She looked self-satisfied until he added, "But not in the way you think."

"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked, sounding slightly offended.

He chuckled. "Okay, not _entirely_ in the way you think." In a quieter voice, he asked, "What on earth made you say that Anna doesn't love Hugh? What did you talk about whilst we were grilling?"

She looked at him through her lashes. "The minute you two left I tried to spark some conversation between us, starting with a common point of interest. Hugh. I talked about how we met and became friends through you, what a wonderful person he was, caring and funny… and her response was just… I don't know. Less than enthusiastic. If someone were talking to me about you I'd be gushing in return."

It touched him, as it always did, to hear her speak of her love for him, and he felt a small smile pass over his features before he spoke. "You heard Hugh. Maybe she was just nervous."

Bridget shook her head. "No. That would have been obvious. She seemed really detached from the whole thing, like I was describing a stranger to her. Then she asked me about you, and what it was like being married to such an in-demand barrister, so I told her. And then she told me that she had always dreamed of marrying a doctor."

Mark felt the sinews in his jaw working overtime at this statement.

Bridget continued in that same quiet voice, "Didn't you notice that they didn't cuddle up during the movie? That she didn't kiss him goodbye when she went for the milk? That he never answered my question about whose idea it was not to sleep together until after they were married? And the absolute worst of all…" She paused dramatically. "Wicksy can't stand her. He's a great judge of character."

"I'll remind you, darling, that that blasted cat doesn't like me, either."

"Oh, he does," she said; "he just gets jealous when he has to vie for my attention with you. But do you see what I'm saying?"

"Bridget," he said. "There isn't anything there that can't be explained by nervousness, darling."

"Even the cat?"

He levelled his gaze at her even as more of Peter's words echoed in his mind: _I don't see a whole lot of love there__._ "Whatever you do, don't say a word to Hugh about your as-yet-unfounded suspicions."

She pursed her lips, furrowed her brows, and generally looked perturbed, but then her expression changed to a resigned smile and she nodded slightly. "You're right, of course. I wouldn't want to hurt his feelings without proof."

He smiled, drinking more of his coffee, watched the wheels turning in her head. "This is not an invitation," he said upon swallowing his sip, "to go digging for proof."

She pouted; she knew she was transparent as the day was long.

He emptied the cup then reached to set it on the nightstand. "Have you breakfasted?" he asked.

"Mmm, yes," she said. "Hugh made a big pot of steel cut oats and, lovely man that he is, went down to the store and bought me some whole milk."

Mark laughed. "And here I was sure you'd never eat oatmeal again." He leaned back against the headboard, made room for her next to him, and patted the bed. "Come here."

With a demure little smile—rather silly considering that she was not only his wife but carrying his child—she sat beside him and curled into his embrace, slipping her arm around him, resting her head on his shoulder, tucking her knees up a bit.

"Don't imagine we'll have too many more mornings to ourselves, soon enough," she said quietly.

"It's a fair trade," he said. "I'm sure you'd agree."

She tightened her embrace. "Oh," she said, as if suddenly poked. "I should have brought you some oatmeal."

"It's all right," he said. "I'm not in the mood for oatmeal."

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice low, almost drowsy.

It was a line that under ordinary circumstances would have been a springboard into more risqué territory, but instead he kissed her temple and said, "A couple of eggs will do nicely."

There was a pause before Bridget spoke again. "I'm a little surprised."

"At what?" he replied.

She pushed away to sit up and meet his eyes; he was startled to see her looking a little upset, even teary as she said, "You didn't take the bait."

Immediately he knew his mistake: she hadn't been sleepy, she'd been trying to sound seductive and tempt him. He pushed forward and took her in his arms, holding in a laugh. "Oh love," he said. "It's no reflection on you." His hands moved down her back gently as he nuzzled into her neck. "You sounded tired, and I thought you were being serious."

"I'm not sure that makes me feel better," she said.

He'd experienced enough of her hormonally-induced mood swings and self-doubts to know exactly what was happening. "How about this?" he said quietly into her ear; then he pulled back and kissed her, passionately, languorously and meticulously. Before he knew it she was lying flat on the bed, he was hovering over her, his hand brushing over her breast and stomach as he continued these ministrations, drawing her lower lip through his teeth, running the tip of his tongue along the edge of her lips, then kissing her again.

"Mm," she said dreamily as he pulled back to look at her. The frown was replaced by a blissful smile, rosy cheeks, closed eyes. "Much better."

"Could keep going, if you still need reassurance," he said, his own voice rather gravelly.

She opened her sparking blue eyes. "You are so good for my ego," she whispered. "And I certainly wouldn't object to your shoring it up just a little bit more, especially with my likely being the biggest cow of the lot today—"

He silenced her with a ravenous kiss, sliding his hand up her thigh, and proceeded to show her exactly how much he thought otherwise.

With her sighing in absolute satisfaction after the fact, he carried on with gentle strokes to her hair and face, kisses to her hairline. "You are more beautiful to me every day," he whispered into her ear, his hand moving to sprawl over her broadened belly. "I stand in awe of the miracle of life just right here."

She made a dismissive little sound, but secretly he knew she liked the compliment. "Women have babies every day."

"Those women aren't you," he said, "and those babies aren't yours and mine."

She opened her eyes, looking to him, her eyes glossy. "You are too good to me."

"You know me, love," he said. "I don't say anything I don't mean."

As if on cue, the little one under his hand decided to make his opinion known, and delivered a little thump to the middle of his father's palm. It caused the both of them to look at each other in awe, then start laughing and kissing playfully all over again.

A loud knock sounded at the door. "Last call for brekkies," said Hugh. "Have to clear the kitchen."

"Be right there," Mark called back, before kissing his wife one last time. "Even with a baby," he said, "I intend on spending as much time as I can with you like this."

She grinned. "You and your lofty goals."

Smoothing down her skirt, stroking her cheek, he got up out of bed, grabbed the clothes he'd set out the night before, and, throwing on his robe, dashed to the loo to take a quick shower.

Upon arriving downstairs he found a bowl of oatmeal waiting there for him, covered in brown sugar and steaming. "Sorry, old man, kitchen's closed," said Hugh. "Anna's going to be here any minute to get food on for dinner tonight."

Mark thought that oatmeal was a small price to pay for the way he'd spent the morning.

"I have some glasses to unpack, some wine to get to chilling, and I promised to clean up 'round here," continued Hugh. "I want you two to sit back and relax like the guests you are."

"Oh, Hugh, I'd be delighted to help with the cooking," offered Bridget.

The look of alarm was gone in a moment; Mark dearly hoped Bridget had not seen it. "I appreciate the offer," said Hugh, "but she's very particular in the kitchen."

"I could help clean," said Bridget.

"No," said Mark sharply, startling himself a little. "I don't want you straining yourself."

"Mark," she said, shooting him a look. "I'm not an invalid. I'm just pregnant. And not even particularly far along."

Hugh interceded. "I think Mark's right," he said, causing Bridget to look a little offended, until he continued, mollifying her hurt feelings, "but not because I think it's a big strain on a woman in your stage of pregnancy. Rather because you're a guest and that isn't why I asked you up for the weekend."

She looked slightly chastened, but conceded.

"I know what you can do to occupy yourself," said Hugh, "provided you don't want to just go back upstairs and not have sex," he said with a wink. "I could get a pack of cards and you could keep us company in the kitchen while she cooks and I get other things ready."

Mark glanced to his wife.

"Do you have a chess set?" she asked suddenly.

Hugh looked surprised. "You willingly play Mark?"

Bridget laughed. "I willingly play Mark, yes."

He gave her a dubious look. "Hm. Didn't realise you were a glutton for punishment." With a shrug, he went to fetch the chess set.

Bridget seated herself at the table, with a view of the kitchen and dining area. Without prompting, he went to pour her a glass of milk; it was only a matter of time before she'd want one anyhow, and she was always very pleased when it seemed he was reading her mind. Hugh returned in short order with the set and she took the time to set it up.

As expected, Anna arrived within a quarter of an hour. She looked slightly more comfortable in their presence, even as she immediately got to work on cooking. "Hugh," he heard her she called as she arranged her ingredients around her in a semicircle. "Where are the mushrooms?"

Hugh paused in what he was doing—cleaning the silver—and set the cloth down, his rubber kitchen gloves filthy with tarnish and silver polish. "Oh, hell. I knew there was something I forgot."

"Is the store far from here?" Bridget asked.

"Not particularly. You probably passed it on the way here."

"Oh, right," she said, then stood. "I'll go. It'll be a nice walk."

"Bloody hell you'll go," said Mark.

"Mark," she said tersely, flashing a glance to Anna, and flushing red with her embarrassment. "It's a five minute walk."

"Thanks, Bridget," piped up Hugh. "The walk would actually be pretty good for you, and it's a lovely day."

"It's the end of February," said Mark, shooting daggers to his unhelpful friend, who only smiled beatifically as he continued with his polishing.

"I'll wear my coat," she replied through clenched teeth, then walked out of the kitchen.

Mark rose from his seat. He was going for a walk with her whether he—or she—liked it or not. "Any particular kind of mushroom?"

"Not in particular," Anna called back as she chopped what looked like pork or chicken into thin cutlets. "Fresh, obviously. Porcini if they have them."

"We'll be right back."

He strode up to her just in time to see her tying her scarf on. She glanced up at him, conveying her displeasure as she finished.

"Lovely day for a walk," Mark said. "Mind if I join you?"

Her countenance softened, and the corner of her mouth turned up into a small smile. "You're not coming with me to make sure I look both ways before I cross the street?"

"I'm coming with you because I want to spend time with you," he said, "and because I know what Anna needs for her recipe, whereas you do not."

"Mushrooms," Bridget said triumphantly.

"What kind?"

She went to speak, but no words came out, until finally she furrowed her brow and said, "Put your shoes on and let's go."

He slipped into his shoes then his woollen coat and strode up to her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and kissing her before releasing her to walk outside.

It turned out to be unseasonably warm, after all, so with his hand in hers, they covered the relatively short distance in very little time flat. On crossing the car park to the front door, she said smugly, "Lovely day for a walk, indeed."

They strolled up and down the aisles of the market; they found the right mushrooms as well as some more Guinness to replace the bottles he'd consumed. While she was cooing over the baby foods, he managed to slip some chocolate bars into the basket to surprise her with later, a surprise further maintained when he suggested she sit on the bench to wait for him as he went through the checkout line.

"By the way," she said as they embarked on their walk back to Hugh's house, "that was the right answer you gave back there."

"What?"

"That you wanted to come with me to spend time with me," she said. He looked to her; she was looking to the ground, watching her step, but smiling broadly. "Although I suppose I've just given away a huge tactical secret for future disagreements."

He chuckled. He supposed she had.

Mark had not locked the door behind them upon leaving, so they let themselves back in. Bridget immediately dashed for the loo after divesting herself of her coat, scarf and shoes; Mark removed his own coat and shoes then made his way back to the kitchen.

He stopped in his tracks when he heard Hugh's and Anna's voices raised in conversation.

"Speaking to his wife with that tone. How can he talk to her like that?"

"That's just the way Mark is, Anna," Hugh said in response.

"Did you see her blush? She was mortified."

"She was probably just afraid of what you'd think, since you don't know Mark very well. Mark worships the ground she walks on. Tends to be a bit overprotective."

Mark heard Anna laugh, short and sharp in disbelief. "Haven't seen you do anything of the sort with me."

Instead of the response Mark would have given in Hugh's place—_you just haven't put yourself in such a position yet_—Hugh said with a laugh, "Mark has good reason to be. Take it from me. Bridget's a wonderful woman, but somewhat prone to attracting trouble."

In an effort to not embarrass himself or either of them further, he shouted out, "We're back," before pushing through the kitchen door with a smile fixed on his face.

"Ah!" said Hugh with a broad grin, then pantomimed searching with binoculars. "It would appear, however, that your party is short one."

"Bridget diverted to the ladies," he said, setting the carrier bag onto the counter, handing Anna the paper bag filled with porcini mushrooms, then slipping the chocolate bars out. "A little surprise for later," he explained, tucking them into a kitchen drawer.

"Thank you," she said with a polite smile. "All's well then?" If he had not inadvertently heard the conversation upon his arrival, the question would have seemed a whole lot more innocent than it really was.

"Of course," said Mark. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"As I tried to explain," Hugh chimed in. "It always is. Anna was afraid there was a row brewing. Ah! More Guinness! Thank you, old man."

"Pleasure is all mine," replied Mark.

Ordinarily, he would have felt more at ease, but found his mind could not stop turning things over—

_It's a very, very good book, and Mark doesn't get a chance to read often for pleasure, but at Giles' recommendation he'd picked up a copy and found he couldn't put it down for anything. It's so good that he doesn't notice that it's now dark, that his wife is off in another part of the house, probably talking to a friend, telling them of their civil ceremony three days prior, or browsing through books of wallpaper samples._

_It's the slam of the front door that startles him back to the present and out of his book; alarmed, he shoots out of the sitting room and into the foyer, where he sees her, fully suited up for the cold winter weather and laden with carrier bags._

_"Hi," she says in surprise. "What's the matter?"_

_"I heard the door," he replies. "It startled me. I hadn't realised you'd gone."_

_She huffs out a breath. "You were so deep into that book, I'm not surprised you didn't hear a word I said."_

_He vaguely recalls her talking to him but he honestly has no recollection of what she said. _

_"Well, at least I found a couple of new pairs of shoes," she says, holding her arms out. It's his cue to take the bags from her grasp so she can remove her coat. From the number and weight of the bags he suspects it's more than a couple of pairs._

_Dutifully he takes them up to the bedroom and finds himself obliged to watch the unloading of her quarry. His suspicions about the shoes are correct, and he patiently sits through the explanation of the merits of this designer versus that one, the heel heights, and other details he could not care about in the least. All he really wants to do is get back to the book, truth be told, but he feels listening is the least he can do._

_The memory seems so long ago, so distant, his feelings for his first wife so different than his feelings for Bridget that it almost seems another man's life. If Bridget doesn't phone home after a late meeting, if she gets diverted or loses track of time, he worries beyond all sense; if she suggests doing something with even the slightest hint of danger, he protests loudly. When he doesn't know where she is, he frets, and not because he's obsessed with controlling her in any way, but because if anything ever were to happen to her, he would never forgive himself._

—even though Mark tried to tell himself that he just hadn't seen enough of Hugh and Anna's interactions to fairly judge. However, it seemed that Hugh did not seem to think of Anna in the way he thought of Bridget, not if Hugh's response to Anna's statement was anything to go by. Mark did worship the ground Bridget walked on, would do anything for her, and had been accused on more than one occasion of taking his concern for her safety, security and comfort beyond the boundaries of normal. He felt this way, did these things, because he loved her. It didn't seem reasonable not to.

_I don't see a whole lot of love there._

Bridget came into the kitchen at last. "You live in such a lovely neighbourhood," she said to Hugh, coming to where Mark was standing, leaning on the counter. "It was a very nice walk indeed. Very refreshing."

She looked a little pale, truth be told. "Are you okay?" he asked, suddenly very concerned.

She nodded. "Yeah, just need some water."

He went to the cupboard and pulled down a glass, then topped it off from the filtered water spout, handed it to her, then herded her to the chair she'd occupied before. She took a long draw, then exhaled loudly upon swallowing.

"Better?" he asked, crouching beside her, taking her free hand in his.

She nodded, then smiled wanly. "I might have to forfeit our game, have a little lie down."

Mark nodded. "I think that might be best. But we can carry on with the game after your lie down."

Bridget laughed lightly yet apologetically. "I'm going to be a nightmare at nine months."

"Nonsense." He rose enough to kiss her forehead, then got to his feet and turned to their host. "I'm going to go take my lovely wife upstairs."

"We have everything quite under control," said Anna with a sympathetic smile, "if you'd rather stay with her."

He would, so he nodded. He appreciated the concern, but as he led Bridget upstairs, laid down and spooned up behind her, his hand on her stomach, he started to wonder if Anna had actually been sincere in that concern, or was just trying to get him, _them_, out from under foot.

"Mark?" she asked in the quiet of the dim room. "Are _you_ okay?"

"Of course," he said quietly, stroking his fingers on her stomach.

"You just looked rather… stricken, is the best word for it, when I came into the kitchen."

"No darling," he said. "I'm fine."

After a few more moments, he could tell she had fallen to sleep. She wouldn't need much, a half-hour or so, and she'd be right as rain again. He continued with the gentle caresses, planting kisses into her hair, which helped take his mind off of the conversation he'd overheard. It was, after all, difficult to think about anything but her while she was in his arms.

………

It should have occurred to Mark that at the dinner party he would be surrounded by strangers, and therefore he should have better prepared himself mentally for it. Bridget, as always, was his buffer and he kept close to her side, his hand on her waist; he preferred to observe and listen as others talked to them, and talked to each other around them.

"You should have seen it," said Hugh to another of his friends upon introducing them to the man, a fellow from the hospital called Robert. "I spent the entirety of my years at Cambridge trying to beat this man at chess, and I watched his wife clean his clock in a half hour flat!"

Mark, Bridget and Robert all chuckled. "I'm sure it says less about me," said Bridget, "and more about Mark having forgotten more about chess than I've ever known."

"Don't sell yourself short, love," said Mark, pulling her up against him, grinning proudly.

"Are you saying she _is_ better than you?" Hugh said, mouth hanging open in an over-dramatic display.

"I'm saying we are well matched," Mark explained.

Hugh laughed. "That child of yours is going to be the next Kasparov," he said, smirking. He directed his gaze downward, bent forward towards Bridget's stomach. "Five days out of the womb and you'll be taking on Big Blue, won't you, little man?"

The two of them could not help but laugh.

The good host that he was, Hugh excused himself to go and talk to a newly arrived friend, and Robert excused himself to find his wife. "Are you having a nice time?" Bridget asked him.

"Yes," he said. "Very nice. Of course, Hugh has good taste in reds, and that helps." He lifted his wineglass and sipped.

She smiled. "The great social lubricant," she said to him quietly, causing him to chuckle.

It occurred to him as he drew her close again at the waist that she'd been on her feet, in heels, for most of the evening so far. "How are you holding up?" he asked.

"Very well indeed," she said, "though my feet feel a bit swollen. I may need to sit down soon."

His protective instinct kicked in. "Come," he said discreetly to her, leading her towards the sofa. "Anyone who doesn't give up a seat to a pregnant woman is a barbarian."

She chuckled. As they drew near the young couple occupying the loveseat took one look at her and before Mark even had to ask, they got up, offering the seat to her.

"I like Hugh's friends," she said, resting back into the cushion. He sat beside her.

"I could find something for you to raise your feet on if you need."

She nodded slightly. "I could really use something to drink, too, if you don't mind."

"Of course I don't mind." He bent and kissed her, then rose for the kitchen.

The scent of dinner, light in the air in the living room, was overpoweringly mouth-watering when he actually pushed through the kitchen door in order to get Bridget her drink. Anna was in there with two of her girlfriends, transferring the lasagne into prettier, fancier serving dishes. She raised her eyes to Mark and smiled. "Need something?"

"Just a glass of water for my wife," he said. "I'll get it myself."

Anna smiled. "Okay."

"So, when!" gushed one of her friends. "Tell us!"

"September, I think," said Anna. "Haven't decided yet on the exact date." Mark took his time finding the glass; he was interested in hearing more. "Not too hot in September, though and it gives me time to plan and get everything just right. I've already spoken to three different venues and gotten prices. I already know what I want as far as catering goes, and my sister—you know, the one married to the neurosurgeon—she can sing at the church."

Mark moved to the refrigerator for some ice. "Band or dee-jay?" asked the second friend.

Anna snorted. "Band, of course. Dee-jay is so déclassé—Mark?" Her tone changed completely, all-girls-together to slightly impatient but polite. "Finding everything all right?"

"Yes," he said. "Just getting ice."

"There's ice in the bucket out there too."

"Oh, right," he said.

"You must be so thrilled," gushed the first woman, continuing her conversation with Anna.

"What about the dress?" asked the second, as if she had committed an enormous faux pas in not asking sooner.

"I have it narrowed down to two, both more than ten-thousand, but it's the most important day of my life…"

"Oh, pictures!" gawped the first. "I must see pictures!"

Though he was interested in hearing more of this most illuminating conversation, it was really already longer than Mark could excusably remain, so he left the kitchen destined for the ad hoc bar Hugh had set up to make mixed drinks and grabbed a wedge of lemon to squeeze then drop into Bridget's drink.

"Mark!" It was Hugh, sidling up to make a scotch and soda. "Everything all right?"

"Just getting a drink for Bridget," he said.

"Saw her sitting there, brought over the ottoman for her."

"Thanks, mate."

"No worries."

"Hugh," asked Mark tentatively. "I meant to ask if you have a date set yet. For the wedding."

"Date?" he asked, grinning. "Not yet. Not a single plan in place. Why?"

"No particular reason," Mark replied. "Just was thinking about pencilling it into the diary."

"When we decide," said Hugh, "you'll know." He stirred the drink with a swizzle stick. "Better get your wife her water, eh?"

"Right, right," said Mark, wandering back to her side, beginning to wonder if Bridget's observations weren't dead on—

_The wedding is a civil ceremony, her dress more like a business suit than a bridal gown, but it was all her choosing; she chides others for romantic notions and says again and again that all she wants is to get the business of marriage out of the way so they can get on with life. He needs only to provide the chequebook, ask his brother (then his best mate) to stand up with him then show up for the wedding day. He's uninvolved and she seems to like it best that way. It's not something he wants to do with her, anyhow; she knows what she wants, and she brooks no objection. His being there is superfluous._

_He compares that with his second wedding, picture perfect and traditional; she in her gown and tiara, an explosion of flowers, the two of them basking in the warmth of love of family and friends. He still isn't much involved in the planning of the day, but she knows he's there for her, and her gift, their honeymoon, is all left in his hands and he revels in making the arrangements. The contrast is like night and day between his first wife with his second wife, who ensures he is fully engaged as they prepare for the birth of their child, their son, their little Andrew Mark. He enjoys every moment of it, whether shopping, planning, or otherwise preparing; it is not a chore when it's a joint effort with Bridget._

"Mark?"

He realised he'd gotten to the loveseat but was standing next to it, and hadn't actually sat or given Bridget her drink. "I'm so sorry. Here you are." He took a seat by her side, and she accepted her drink, taking a lengthy sip.

After she did though, she furrowed her brow. "What's the matter, Mark? You were a million miles away just now."

"I'm fine," he said stiffly.

She cocked an eyebrow up. "Mark Darcy," she said darkly. "Don't lie to me."

He leaned forward, kissing her cheek, which he was always fond of doing, but this time was primarily an excuse to whisper into her ear. "Not a good time. I'll tell you later."

As he pulled back, he could see the concern in her eyes, but she merely nodded slightly and smiled.

"Everything okay?" It was Anna.

"Oh yes," said Bridget brightly. "Just needed to get a load off."

Anna smiled. "Just wanted to let you know that dinner's ready, if you want to go and take your seats."

Mark noticed just then the migration towards the dining room table; he got to his feet and pulled Bridget to hers. "Thank you," he said with a curt nod of the head to Anna.

"We'll just leave the ottoman where it is." From out of nowhere, Hugh. "You two are going to love dinner," he continued. "She's really outdone herself." He bent to address the baby again. "Just you wait, little man—you're in for a treat!"

"Oh for heaven's sake, Hugh," said Anna sharply. "The baby can't hear you."

Her tone, her manner of address, surprised both him and Bridget, if his wife's reaction was anything to go by. Hugh smiled sheepishly. "Well I know that, of course," he said. "Come on. Supper's on."

Dinner was in fact delicious; both a Bolognese lasagne and something described as _scaloppine ai funghi_, the meat cutlets she'd been preparing earlier with a delicious creamy mushroom sauce. He did little speaking during the meal, and barely remembered clearing his plate for the whirlwind of thoughts racing around his head—

_The first time he meets Jeremy's wife, long ago and long before he meets Bridget, Magda is full with child, their eldest (and, as fate would have it, only daughter), Constance. She looks so radiant, and they look so happy, that he (in a moment of uncharacteristic unguardedness) bends to speak to the child, placing his hand on Magda's stomach with her permission. He is brought from the moment with a snort of derision, a harsh tone, as she, his then-fiancée, tells him to stop being ridiculous, to stop talking to an unborn child._

_He thinks of all the times he's placed his hand on Bridget's growing belly, speaking words of unconditional love to a baby he hadn't even known the sex of prior to a few days ago; their baby, their little miracle of life together. He fondly recalls all of the teary smiles and looks she's given to him as he does so, the emotional kisses she's pulled him into, the declarations of love whispered into his ear. It all feels so natural, so right._

—through which he cannot help but recall Bridget's words the night before in conjunction with his brother's, the words that have been haunting him all day, that warning he'd gotten long ago on the eve of his ill-fated first marriage. How so soon after the ceremony Mark had been betrayed, how dearly he wished he had paid them heed.

_She doesn't love him_… and what of Hugh's love for her? Mark had not once seen him be affectionate with Anna, only tentatively during dinner the night before, and not at all during the party preparation. The first evening he could have chalked up to a little nervousness on her part, meeting long-time friends, and his not wanting to potentially embarrass her with overt displays of affection; Mark might have even been willing to allow that they had only been together a short time and were still finding their rhythm within the relationship. However, had Mark been in Hugh's shoes today, he couldn't have imagined not pausing during the course of one of the thankless tasks to which he'd been assigned to see how Bridget was doing, to give her a little kiss or a cuddle, to see check on her own progress. He also knew that if two months was enough time in which to get engaged, it was enough time to fall into these loving habits naturally.

Anna had made phone calls about venues, had looked at dresses, had thought about wedding dates and catering, all without consulting Hugh first—almost as if Hugh was an afterthought, one more detail to consider for the self-described most important day of her life. As for Hugh—his wonderful, caring, but long-time single friend—Mark wondered if he truly loved her, or if he had only thought he loved her, having never really experienced the depths of true and lasting love. He certainly had not with Louisa.

The more he thought about it, the more he realised he would likely as not have to play the role his brother had played so long ago. He only hoped he would not have to pay the same price Peter had, hoped Hugh would not pay the same price Mark himself had paid by not heeding the words of warning. Hugh deserved better; he deserved the sort of love he had with Bridget.

He felt his wife take his hand under the table and squeeze it gently. He looked to her; she only smiled a soft smile to him and mouthed the words _I love you_ in a sort of reassurance. She didn't know what was troubling him, and she didn't need to know; she was there for him, regardless.

Of its own accord the corner of his mouth turned up in a smile, and he leaned forward to briefly kiss her cheek. "Later, I promise," he whispered.

………

Mark had taken to watching Hugh and Anna interact all evening long after dinner, and when they were together, they hardly ever touched one another, never stole kisses, never did any of those playful things as they were chatting with their closest friends that he found himself doing with Bridget that very evening. A dessert of delicious St Honore cake and a round of espressos were served, and shortly afterwards, the dinner guests were gracious enough to leave, quite possibly out of deference to the pregnant woman.

After retiring upstairs for the night—after being told their assistance was not required for cleanup—Bridget laid upon the bed and Mark took her feet in his lap, massaging them tenderly.

"You shouldn't have worn the heels," he scolded gently.

"I'm not a fat old matron yet, Mark," she teased in return. "I still like to look good once in a while."

He raised a single brow. "'Once in a while'? Darling, don't be daft. You always look good."

"Careful, love," she said with a smile, closing her eyes. "Your bias is showing."

A few more minutes of gentle massaging, she opened her eyes again.

"So tell me what the trouble was all about tonight."

He felt the muscles in his jaw tighten up involuntarily. In a low tone he said, "It's about Hugh. And Anna."

She pushed herself up onto her elbows. "What? _What?_"

"I… heard some things today, made some observations, that lead me to believe that you might be… right."

She blinked in her disbelief. "Right about—? Oh. _Oh._" She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, then pushed herself to sit next to him. "What did you hear? What did you see?" she asked quietly.

He told her. "Upon our arrival back from the store, I heard her talking to Hugh about… how I had spoken to you when you said you wanted to walk to the store on your own. She seemed to think I was speaking out of turn. Hugh defended me, said it was because I loved you so much—" She smiled fleetingly. "—but when she pointed out he didn't act that way with her, his only response was to joke that you… well, you can sometimes be a trouble magnet."

"That can't have been all," she said, gracious enough to let the 'trouble magnet' comment slide.

"No, of course not," he said. "I saw first hand some of the things you pointed out last night, and there were other things too."

"Like what?" she prodded gently.

"She was talking about wedding planning, dresses, dates, and so on with her girlfriends. Everything she said was 'I', not 'we'. When I casually asked Hugh about setting a date—well, he doesn't know she's begun planning at all."

"Where did you hear this?"

"In the kitchen, getting your water."

"Hm," she replied. "And she did sort of talk to Hugh like a cow when he was talking to the baby."

"Yes," he affirmed. "That was one of the other things that struck me." He took in a deep, steadying breath, then told her how the things Anna had done had reminded him so much of his first wife; he told her about the shopping trip when he hadn't realised she'd gone; how that first no-nonsense wedding was handled by her at her insistence, how he had himself been scolded for speaking to a yet-unborn Constance.

She looked at him without blinking for many moments, then reached up to trace a finger along his brow. "Oh, Mark," she said, her voice tremulous. "I'm so sorry."

"No need for you to apologise, my love," he said softly in return. "Didn't know what I was missing until I had you… such a stark contrast in comparison." He watched her face change momentarily to a flicker of a smile. "I'm afraid Hugh's in the position I was in then."

She looked very thoughtful, then asked, "Wait. Are you saying he doesn't love Anna?"

"I think he sincerely believes he loves her," Mark said. "He doesn't know any better."

Bridget just looked at him for a long time without speaking. Finally, with a quiet voice, she asked, "So does that mean Anna's like her, then?"

They rarely, if ever, spoke of Mark's first wife, his first marriage. He had made it abundantly clear to Bridget that she was free to ask anything she liked, but that he had considered the whole thing the biggest mistake he had ever made, that he had never loved her the way he loved Bridget. After a moment of consideration, Mark said honestly, "I don't know enough about Anna to say for sure, but this whole situation is bringing up a lot of unpleasant memories. Anna seems more in love with the idea of being married than anything or anyone else, and Hugh's as good a catch as any to her. That he's a doctor is even better. Fulfilling her lifelong dream, as you said."

He watched the corners of Bridget's lips pull her mouth into a tight line. "Poor Hugh," she said, then caressed his cheek. "Poor Mark."

He placed his hand over hers. "As I said, I'm just fine now," he said.

She smiled, then pursed her lips again. "We have to talk to him."

"No," said Mark. "_I_ have to talk to him. I know this. But the potential of this going horribly wrong…"

She nodded, knowing where his train of thought was going. "Like what happened with your brother."

He nodded.

"I'm not sure," she continued tentatively, cracking a small smile, "that Hugh can possibly be as sheltered with women as you were."

He knew she was trying to lighten the mood, and he loved her for it. He smiled and took her into his arms.

"You'll know what to say," she said softly as her fingers traced up and down his back. "You always do when it really matters."

He closed his eyes as her fingers continued a path over his back. The comfort of her embrace infused him with peace and with the strength he would need to handle the conversation with Hugh. More likely than not it would take place the next day. It was something he wanted to do in person, and this would be his best chance, because he did not know when he'd see Hugh again after this weekend.

* * *

End Notes:

St Honore cake is apparently traditional at engagement parties.


	3. Part 3 of 3

**That Marriage Business**

By S. Faith, 2009

Words: 20,743 (Part 3: 5,573)  
Rating: T / PG-13  
Summary, Disclaimer, Notes: See Part 1.

* * *

They readied for bed and after climbing beneath the sheets, she held him again, stroking his hair, kissing his temple, until each stroke got a little slower and it became evident without his looking to her that she had drifted to sleep.

Mark had no such luck, however.

He laid there for what felt like hours not wanting to move, not wanting to wake up his peacefully sleeping wife, but unable to settle his thoughts in order to fall to sleep. Rather than toss and turn, he gingerly slipped out from beneath the sheets, then, in search of maybe a cup of tea to help him feel drowsy, he wandered down towards the kitchen.

He was surprised to find all of the lights were still on, that most of the clutter from the dinner party was still to be found on every surface. For a moment he wondered (in an admittedly Bridget-like manner) if Hugh and Anna, in the course of cleaning, had been overcome with unlikely lust and, despite their vow to abstain, had dashed up the stairs to Hugh's room. Upon reaching the kitchen, though, he found he was wrong. Hugh was sitting at the table with a cup of tea.

"Mark. Old man. Can't sleep?"

Mark nodded.

"Yeah," Hugh said. "Same here."

Mark went to the hob and set the kettle to boiling again.

"Tea's up above," said Hugh, picking his cup up and drinking from it again.

As Mark waited for the water to boil, he glanced to Hugh, and he knew instantly that the only way Mark would get any sleep that night was to come out with it and get his concerns off of his chest.

"Hugh," said Mark as he poured water over the bag. "I—" He stopped, suddenly unsure of his approach. "There's—I wanted to talk to you about something."

Hugh looked as concerned as he ever had in Mark's presence. "Everything all right? Is Bridget okay? The baby?"

Mark smiled. "It's not about me. Us. Rather… it's about you."

"Me?"

Mark took his tea and sat at the table. He then breathed deeply to help centre himself. This was it.

"Hugh, I'm concerned," he said at last. "Anna seems like a very nice woman, but I wonder—" He cleared his throat; this was harder than he could ever imagine. "I'm reminded so much of—"

Against his shin he felt a slight pressure. He looked down to see Wicksy looking up at him, who offered Mark a soundless meow. He smiled. The cat leapt up into his lap and curled into a ball, purring.

"Mark," said Hugh. "Spit it out, old man."

With his hand on the cat's back, he raised his eyes to meet Hugh's. "We have been friends for a very long time, and this is not easy for me to say, because I know first hand what it's like to hear these words."

"This sounds serious," said Hugh.

"It is," said Mark. "You are all too aware, Hugh, that I once married a woman I thought I loved and whom I thought loved me, even though those around me saw the truth of it and tried to warn me." He stopped to collect his thoughts. "I would just hate to see you go through anything remotely as painful as what I went through, or hell, even half what you went through with Louisa. If you're going to get married again, I just want you go be sure it's for the absolute right reason."

Hugh glanced down, and Mark was afraid that his friend was too angry to speak. From his lap, Wicksy let out a very quiet meow.

"Mark," said Hugh quietly.

"I'm sorry," Mark said pre-emptively. "I didn't want to say anything, Hugh, but I couldn't sit by, couldn't at least give you the chance to get as angry with me as I got with my brother… who turned out to be right."

"Mark," Hugh said again. The fingers clutching the handle of his teacup slowly released, and something fell from his grip, hitting the table with a clattering sound.

It took Mark a moment to realise it was a ring. A woman's diamond solitaire. Next to the cup, Mark noticed what must have been Anna's house key. Mark drew his brows together.

"I don't understand," said Mark quietly.

"It wasn't right," he said. "And I knew it." He offered a smile but Mark knew he was hurting. "Funny thing is I was so anxious to be in love, to have what my happy married friends have, to what you and Bridget have…. I know now I rushed into things too quickly. So I broke it off tonight."

Mark felt his stomach drop, feeling immediately somehow guilty.

"Don't look like that," said Hugh. "It isn't your fault that your happiness breeds envy in others." Hugh was smiling; Mark knew he was kidding. "But it was also you and Bridget, this weekend, that reminded me the reality of things. I'm fond of Anna, I like her a lot, but it wasn't love… that much is obvious. We didn't have what you two have. And frankly, I don't think we ever would have had what you two have."

Mark looked down to his own hand, to the gleaming band there, then back to Hugh. "I'm sorry."

"Hey," said Hugh. "I'd rather realise sooner than later."

Mark's thoughts flashed to Peter, to his ex-wife. "Yeah."

"You're like a brother to me, Mark, a true friend, and I appreciate your trying to talk to me about it. It means a lot to me that you came down here to do so, knowing what the possible consequences could have been," said Hugh. "I want you to always speak your mind to me, especially when it comes to this, to love, which we all know makes us blind."

Mark smiled, looking up to his friend. "I would hope you'd do the same."

"Nah," said Hugh, surprising him. "That's what she's for."

He turned to see the approaching form of his wife, blinking sleepily, running her fingers through her hair. "Mark? Hugh?" she asked sleepily. "What's going on?"

"Everything's all right," said Mark, staying her fears. "Don't worry."

"Worry?" she said. "I just wanted some milk."

Hugh began to chuckle, then laugh, causing Mark to laugh too; Mark knew Hugh would, after a little time, bounce back just fine.

"What?" asked Bridget, confused.

Mark got to his feet and took her in his arms. "Having a little talk," he whispered.

"Oh!" she said. "Is everything all right?" She pulled back to look at Hugh, seeming to simultaneously spot the ring and the key, and quickly adding two plus two. "Oh, Hugh." She went over to him to give him a hug. "I'm sorry."

Hugh hugged her in return. "Thank you." Mark saw Hugh smile again. "There's something extra specially wonderful about a hug from a pregnant mama."

Bridget giggled, then pulled away. "Little Andrew hugs you too."

"Or at least kick you," said Mark.

"Haven't trained him to kick on demand just yet," said Bridget, patting her stomach.

"Andrew?"

Bridget and Mark both looked to Hugh, who looked extremely pleased, almost a little teary.

"Yes," said Mark. "We found out she was pregnant on St Andrew's Day."

"Little Andy." Hugh got to his feet again, and with a glance to Bridget and a nod in return, he put his hand on her stomach. "Hey, Andy, it's your Uncle Hugh—wanted you to let you know you can feel free to kick me any time you—"

Hugh stopped just as Bridget and Hugh met eyes, then they both grinned and laughed.

"He kicked," said Hugh, looking to Mark.

"He wants his milk, I think," said Mark. "Greedy little thing."

"Have any of that cake left?" asked Bridget.

Hugh served up three slices of leftover cake, and with their tea and milk they toasted to friendship… and to love.

"Some day, some woman will be worthy of that ring," declared Bridget, drinking the last of her milk. Hugh smiled, raising his glass to her.

"And I am certain Mark will let me know when she shows up in my life."

"If not Mark," said Bridget, "then at least Wicksy."

………

After ascertaining that Hugh was in reasonably good spirits considering what had happened immediately after what was supposed to have been his engagement party, Mark led his wife upstairs and back to their bed for the evening. "He'll be okay," said Bridget confidently, as if reading Mark's own thoughts.

"Yes," he said, pulling the sheets up over them. "I think so. Hugh's the one who ended it."

"Still. It must be painful for him."

"I think it was more painful to come to the realisation that he was planning to marry for the wrong reasons, than it was to actually end the relationship," said Mark.

"Remind me to reassure him we're only a phone call away," she said as he spooned up to her back, his hand splayed out over her stomach. She snuggled back into him, sighing contentedly.

"Of course," he replied, kissing her temple, "though I'm sure he knows that."

"Doesn't hurt to double check."

Neither said anything more, and within a few minutes, judging by the rhythm of her breathing, she had fallen back to sleep. He did not so easily drift off, even though by all rights he should have, at the very least in his utter relief that his friend had dodged the proverbial bullet. He must have at least partly dozed, though, because it was a gentle fluttering against his fingertips that roused him. The baby was kicking again, apparently not enough to wake her, but it did wake him, and he was glad for it.

He was the luckiest and happiest man in the world, and though he smiled to himself to consider the old Mark thinking in such emotional terms, he had to admit he truly was.

………

Upon awaking the following morning, Mark was greeted with an unusual sight: a swath of silky black fur. Gingerly he raised his head; he realised that during the night Wicksy, apparently willing to overlook his difference of opinion with Mark, had curled himself up against Bridget and gone to sleep. Wicksy had, unfortunately, chosen to curl up to her head, leaving Mark facing the cat's back end.

He began to chuckle despite everything, which woke Bridget and caused the cat to stir.

"Awwww," she cooed, feeling the pressure of the cat against her head, reaching up to pet him. "How adorable!"

"Come on, cat," said Mark, "Get off the pillow." Gently he patted the cat's back; offended, Wicksy was off like a shot, stopping once to throw a hiss back at Mark before leaving the room.

She turned over to face him, lower lip protruding ever so slightly. "Mark, he was sleeping."

"His backside was in my face," Mark said. "And it's not hygienic for his filthy little cat paws to be all over your pillow and near your face."

"I suppose you're right," she said, pouting again. Seemingly remembering the events of the previous night, she said, "Were you able to sleep all right once everything got cleared up?"

"Yes, I—wait. How did you know—?"

She smiled. "I know you, Mark. You couldn't sleep, and you went down for tea."

He chuckled; how well she knew him, indeed. "I fell asleep just fine, especially after feeling the little one kicking again," he said. "Made me realise how wonderful I have it, and lulled me right off to sleep."

At this she looked almost ashen. "He did what?"

"He was kicking again," said Mark.

She appeared to be traumatised. "I didn't feel it! Not a thing!"

"You were asleep," he reminded.

"But what if I'm asleep and I don't hear the baby crying? Or I can't get him to stop crying?" she said, tears in her eyes. "What if I really do forget him somewhere, in a shop, or…"

He pulled her close and attempted to soothe her fears. "Bridget, it's barely a flutter at this stage. No stronger than digesting your dinner. I just happened to still be mostly awake. Don't worry about it."

She sighed, then admitted, "I'm so afraid I'm going to be a terrible mum."

"You," he assured, "are going to be a wonderful mum."

He half-expected some flippant remark about how his bias was showing again, but she did not offer one; instead, she nestled into his shoulder, tightened her embrace to pull herself as close to him as she could. With her in his arms like this, he fell back to a peaceful slumber, dreaming of days past—

_He's standing at a party, his own engagement party, and he sees a young girl with reddish-brown hair running around showing her new doll to anyone who will listen. She's no more than five and very enthusiastic about her endeavour. He smiles as she approaches where he and his fiancée are standing._

_"Do you want to see my new dolly?" asks the girl. She holds it up. It's one of those hand-crafted rag dolls of exceptionally high quality._

_"Ohhh," says his companion, his fiancée, his wife come December, in an overly cloying tone of voice. "Aren't you the cutest thing? What's your name, honey?"_

_Her little blue eyes piercingly stare up at the taller, dark-haired woman. "Margaret."_

_"Oh, Margaret!" she coos. "What a lovely name! And what's your baby's name? When was she born? She has a lot of hair for a baby that small!"_

_The girl looks to her as if she's gone mad. "I'm not a real mummy—I'm only four. She's just my dolly." Margaret then looks at Mark; if he didn't know any better, he would have suspected she was mentally accusing him of harbouring a lunatic in his midst._

_As she skips off, his fiancée's arms cross defensively. "What a cheeky little brat."_

_"Tamiko," he says, "she's a child."_

_"She's a brat," Tamiko repeats. "Like I don't know that's a doll."_

_He smiles in a placating manner, though honestly thinks she's overreacting. "She just wanted to show you her doll."_

_Tam looks at him like he's joined the opposition. "I suppose you're on her side?"_

_At this he laughs. "She's four," he reiterates, intimating that she's a little young to have motives ascribed to her actions. "Come on, we can have some more wine."_

_In his mind the years fast forward, and suddenly he's in the doorway of the sitting room in Jeremy's house. He sees Bridget sitting on the bottom step of the stairs, skirt draping over her knees. Beside her sits a distraught-looking six-year-old Constance. He is sure his wife doesn't know he's standing there._

_"What did you have to talk to me about?" asks Bridget in a confidential tone._

_"Auntie Bridget," she says very seriously. "I don't know how to tell you this, but you have a very big rip in your skirt."_

_He sees Bridget fight back a laugh. It's a wrap-around skirt that has a loose, flapping edge; the 'rip' is part of the design. "Do I?" she says, feigning horror. "I'm so glad you told me, Constance. Where is it?"_

_Constance's small hand reaches out and takes hold of the loose edge._

_"Oh, dear," says Bridget. "Whatever shall I do?"_

_"Well," says Constance, very serious indeed. "I found this in the baby's room." She holds out her hand, and in it is a large safety pin with a bright yellow cap. _

_"Do you think that will work?" Bridget asks._

_Constance nods earnestly. "Oh, yes. It keeps the nappies on the baby. It'll keep your skirt together."_

_"Excellent plan," replies Bridget. "You'll help, won't you?"_

_Constance nods again._

_The child's small fingers work the pin open with surprising dexterity, and within moments she has pinned the corner of the skirt down to the layer beneath. Bridget stands, turns in a circle, seeing Mark at last, winking as she faces him._

_"Well, Constance," she says with an air of extreme gratitude. "I'm not sure what I would have done without you keeping my skirt together."_

_Constance smiles proudly, then dives forward to throw her arms around Bridget's legs. "Love you, Auntie B."_

_Bridget crouches down and takes the girl into her arms, holding her tight. "I love you too, Constance."_

_Bridget spends the rest of the party with her lovely designer skirt held sloppily closed by a nappy pin, and every time she and Constance lock eyes, Bridget winks at her, holds a finger up to her lips as if to say the skirt repair is their little secret. Soon Constance begins to wink back, has the air of someone entrusted with something very important, like nuclear launch codes or who really killed JFK._

_Bridget still has the pin. It has a place of honour inside her jewellery box._

—until the first rays of morning brightened the room. Mark slowly roused from sleep to find Bridget looking at him as she was wont to do. "What were you thinking of?" she asked, smiling at him lovingly.

"Why you'll make such a wonderful mum," he said sleepily.

She furrowed her brow.

"Constance and your ripped skirt."

She blushed, looking somewhat shy. "Oh." She lifted her fingers, tracing the lines of his face. "But I didn't do anything more than any other person would have done."

He regarded her, blinking thoughtfully. "Not any person," said Mark. He then regaled her with the anecdote about Margaret and the dolly, and by the end of the story, even as her mouth opened in a slight O, she looked pleased.

"It takes a special kind of person to know when to indulge children in their fantasies," he concluded, "and how to do it properly." He propped himself up on an elbow, then took her cheek in his hand. "Darling, you _will_ make a wonderful mum."

She smiled, then leaned in to kiss him.

As she curled up beside him in the double bed, pressed up against him, he heard her sigh, and while it was a happy sigh, he sensed an undercurrent of discontent.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Hugh," she said, her confidence of the night before seemingly having slipped by the wayside.

"Hugh's a tough old bird," said Mark. "I think he'll be fine. You said so yourself."

"We should spend the day here," she said. "Take him out for lunch. Cheer him up."

"Darling, I don't think he's depressed."

"Of course he's depressed," she said. "He just broke up with his girlfriend. His _fiancée_."

"Bridget," said Mark, "he admitted to me last night that he didn't really love her—only thought he did."

"But that might make him even more depressed!"

At that moment, Mark heard footsteps in the hall, and so he called loudly, "Hugh!"

"What are you doing?" Bridget asked in a whisper, pulling the sheet up to cover herself, even though she was wearing a nightgown.

He didn't get a chance to answer because Hugh swung the door open. "Yes, Captain Old Man, Mrs Old Man?" he asked, looking to both of them in turn.

"Are you depressed?"

Hugh blinked. "Me? Depressed?" He smiled, then chuckled, and Mark could tell that there wasn't a modicum of artifice about it. "Why should I be depressed?"

"Anna?" prompted Bridget incredulously.

"Oh, aside from a little reflection on my part about the whole thing and some embarrassment with our mutual acquaintances," he said, "that'll all be fine. She and I didn't agree that it was best to end it, but she'll get over it."

"So you're not depressed?" Bridget asked.

"No," he said. "Quite happy, actually, because for once I didn't wake up with a cat arse in my face."

That sparked instant and spontaneous laughter in both of them. "I guess I'll have to take your word for it," said Bridget once she regained her breath, "but don't forget you can always ask if you need anything."

Hugh smiled tenderly. "I know." In a flash his demeanour changed back to his usual joviality, and he stretched his arms out in front of him, cracking his knuckles. "Right. I am going for a bit of a jog. You two can lounge a bit as it's still early, but when I come back, who's up for the sights and sounds of magnificent Stratford?"

They agreed wholeheartedly, then were left alone again.

"Sometimes being around Hugh is like being around a whirling top that's gone out of control," said Bridget contentedly. "And you're right. He does seem surprisingly bounced-back."

"I told you he was," Mark said, holding her close again. "Are you happy?"

He meant about Hugh's state of mind, but she seemed to interpret it differently:

"Happier than I've ever been."

………

They dressed for the day and wandered downstairs for something to eat, finding that Hugh had left some coffee for Mark, and the kettle simmering for Bridget should she want some tea. They were just fixing their beverages when Hugh returned, smiling broadly, hot and sweaty from his jog.

"I'll whip up breakfast if you give me a few to shower," he said.

"By all means," said Mark. "Shower."

After Hugh left the kitchen, Mark watched Bridget sip at her caffeine-free tea, her eyes skimming over the front page of the Sunday paper, and he thought once again about the long road they'd both taken to get to where they were now. It hadn't been the easiest journey, at least not at first, but he wouldn't have traded it for anything else in the world.

He smiled, remembering he had something with which to show his sudden burst of appreciation of her.

"You," he said, then waited for her eyes to flash up to meet his, "deserve an extra special treat for being lovely."

She smiled. "Do I?"

He nodded. He then rose to his feet and went over to the drawer where he'd stashed the chocolate bars the day before. "You do. The loveliest of them all." He strode back to the table, holding the bar behind his back. "Hold out your hand, close your eyes."

She raised a brow, but did as told.

When he placed the bar in her hand she opened her eyes. She beamed a smile up at him. "My favourite."

"Yes," he said. "I know."

She unwrapped one and took a big bite. "Mmm."

"Bridget," he said. "Breakfast."

"Yes," she said. "Makes a very fine one."

"No," he said with a chuckle. "I mean Hugh's."

"Oh, Mark." She patted her belly. "Plenty of room in here still."

He chuckled, sitting beside her at the table, taking a sip of his coffee.

She ended up finishing one entire bar, then sat back to drink from her tea. She looked very thoughtful. "So if I deserve this for being lovely," she said in a low tone, "what do I deserve for being a good shag?"

At that he outright laughed. He turned to her, saw chocolate on the corner of her mouth, and dove forward to kiss her, his fingers firm around the back of her head. He pulled back, releasing her and meeting her playful, challenging gaze, and was just about to invite back her upstairs for an additional reward when Hugh reappeared, freshly dressed and with damp hair. "So. What'll it be?" He spotted the candy wrapper on the table. "For a second course, I mean."

"Whatever you're having is fine."

Hugh ended up frying up some eggs and bacon, and putting on some toast. As he cooked, Hugh discussed the possibility of spending some time in town. "It's an even nicer day than yesterday and we can walk around a little, do some shopping, have some lunch later…"

"I think it's a grand idea," said Bridget.

Mark agreed, meeting her eyes again. "Plus I owe my wife a little treat for being… well, not just for being good, but for being the _best_."

Her lips twisted in an amused smile as Hugh plated their food and brought it to the table. They tucked in and not much was said for many moments; if there was one thing Hugh could cook and cook well, it was breakfast.

"You know," she said, her voice turning melancholy, "not that I am disparaging the idea of spending time with you in town, but we have to go back today, and at this rate we will never watch the BBC _Pride & Prejudice_ mini together."

Hugh chuckled. "That reminds me… you would have never gotten Anna to watch. She hates that book. Calls it childish, overly complicated, and unrealistic."

Bridget looked shocked and horrified. "Hates _Pride & Prejudice_?" She turned to look at Mark as if for support.

"Is she mad?" he offered half-heartedly.

Bridget pursed her lips. "So which is her favourite?"

"Hm," he said. "Something to do in the title with a park, I think."

Bridget's jaw dropped open. "_Mansfield Park_?"

Hugh snapped his fingers. "Yes. That's it."

Mark watched as her face turned into an expression of unfettered disgust.

"What's wrong with that?" asked Hugh, glancing to Mark, who shrugged.

"Fanny!" she said, as if that alone were explanation enough. Mark and Hugh were silent, waiting for more. "Fanny's an idiot… plus she got married for all the wrong reasons!"

As the words came out of her mouth she looked instantly regretful, and she very obviously held her breath as she waited for Hugh's response, pulling her lower lip between her teeth.

"Wow," Hugh said at last. "Wish I'd known that sooner." He grinned, and Bridget laughed too, the fear of having stepped in it instantly dissipated.

They set out shortly afterwards, Hugh driving them into the heart of the city. They found a centrally located place to park the car, and immediately he led them to a sweet little children's store that looked like something out of time altogether. Bridget literally looked like a kid in a candy shop.

"One thing," said Mark sternly. Otherwise their house would be overrun with baby paraphernalia months in advance of his birth. As if it weren't already.

He heard Hugh laugh, then explain, "'One thing.' Right."

He walked with Bridget around the entire store at what felt like a snail's pace, and before too long she had chosen something to purchase. When she made that telltale sound of excitement indicating she'd found something else too precious to leave behind, he knew that when she turned to him to beg him for the second, third, fifth or twentieth thing, he would have little will to refuse. He knew he wasn't there just to write the cheque; she always asked his opinion and always respected it, and more than one object was returned to its place on the shelf. For those things they agreed on though, it made him happy to acquiesce, and to make her so happy.

He didn't much care that Hugh was right, though he couldn't resist teasing his friend as he perused a stack of miniature football uniforms: "You brought us here to break the bank, didn't you?"

Hugh smiled, a picture of innocence. "Thought I best cut to the chase. And one of these toys, outfits, et cetera is going to be my treat."

"Only one?" Mark asked, grinning, which faded to an affectionate smile as he watched her looking through the racks of baby clothes. As if sensing their gazes upon her, she glanced up and gave them a winning smile before returning her attention to the rack.

"She's really in her element," said Hugh with fondness. "She's gonna be a bloody great mum."

"Yes," concurred Mark, finding something he intended on purchasing without her input. "I think so, too."

………

After lunch, they returned to Hugh's to gather their things and say goodbye to Wicksy, in order to get on the road back to London. He didn't want to leave too late and run the risk of shops and other places being closed along the way, as it would almost certainly be a given that Bridget would need to use the ladies' at least once during the trip.

"Sorry it kind of turned out to be a bust of a weekend," Hugh said, walking them out to their car.

"Nonsense," said Bridget, giving him a big, lingering hug. "I had a marvellous time with you."

"Always nice to see you," said Mark.

"Remember, call if you need anything," said Bridget. "I mean it."

"I know," Hugh said with a chuckle. "Though I told you, I'm fine."

"Well if you find yourself overcome with the need to talk about anything," she insisted, "you only need ring us."

"Yes ma'am," he said. "Or is that 'mum'?"

She laughed, tightening her embrace before stepping away. Mark held out a hand as if to shake, but as expected, Hugh pulled him into a quick hug instead. "You two are the very best," he said, as he stepped back to look at each of them in turn. "That is one lucky sprog," he added, nodding in the direction of Bridget's stomach.

She giggled. "You can say goodbye to the baby, too," she said.

Hugh crouched down, put his hand on her stomach. "Hey, little guy; Uncle Hugh here. Behave, don't give your mother heartburn—"

"Too late," interrupted Bridget.

"—and keep the kicking to a minimum." Hugh's smile broadened as he and Bridget locked eyes again. "Thought you said you hadn't trained him to kick on demand."

"Well, you know, he's got those Darcy genes," she said nonchalantly. "He's destined to be a quick learner."

………

The drive from Stratford was uneventful and quicker than the drive to Stratford, in part because Bridget slept nearly the whole the way; he did not need to stop to find a loo once. He woke her when they got home, at which point she made a beeline for the toilet. He brought in their overnight bags and the seemingly multitudes of carrier bags from the excursion into Stratford's most dangerous baby store.

"Much better," she said, hand on her stomach as she joined him in the bedroom; he was putting their clothing and the clothing they'd bought for the baby into the laundry bin. He paused long enough to take her into his arms.

"Mark," she asked, peering down into one of the bags. "What's that?"

He glanced down; it was his own special purchase, which she bent down to get, holding it up, beaming a smile as she did so. It was the tiny little Newcastle United uniform he'd bought.

"This is adorable," she said. "He'll match his dad."

"I couldn't help but think about future times," he said, "of he and I playing in the yard, though I don't intend on doing so in my boxers."

Her eyes went instantly misty even as her smile remained, until she got up on her toes and kissed him, throwing her arms around his neck, pulling him closer into her.

Breathless, he broke away at last, his own hands at her waist, moving across her back. "What was that for?"

"For you," she said quietly. "You're going to make an amazing dad."

He had not really considered his own future role as father much, only in the context that he would be there to love and support his son in every way imaginable, just as he did Bridget; to provide a good role model for his son, teach him and guide him as he helped to raise him; however, all of it yet seemed very abstract in the sense that Mark hadn't really begun his role as father yet, not in the same sense as Bridget had. The only thing he knew for certain at this point was that he intended to do the best he could in the most important job he would ever have, and it would not be a lie to say the task was daunting to consider… so to hear her say such a thing meant the world to him, to the point that he was rendered speechless; instead of fumbling for words he drew her close to him again, holding her tightly, almost protectively, burying his face in her hair.

"I love you," he whispered at last.

He really expected her to make a silly joke about how she hoped he loved her seeing she was toting around several extra pounds on his behalf with more to come, but instead she only turned her head and brought her lips to his for another tender kiss. "I love you too," she said to him. "And you will. I mean, you already are amazing as a dad."

Looking into her eyes, that unguarded, vulnerable gaze that bespoke of her love for him more honestly and deeply than any words could have, he thought back on those days when he'd considered marriage-as-merger and he felt ashamed. On the other hand, he was all too pleased he'd seen the light, and was thankful that in their own happiness, he'd helped keep a dear friend from making a huge mistake again.

"What?" she asked at his silence, her mouth turning up in a smile.

"Nothing," he said, "and everything."

She laughed lightly. "Mark Darcy," she said, "sometimes you're a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma… and I hope that never changes."

As he held her close again, he hoped it never changed, either.

_The end._

End Notes:

"A riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma": originated with Churchill.

I have to admit that my mental image for Anna was Anna Chancellor (except with short hair), with whom Hugh Laurie starred in _Fortysomething_. Who also happened to play Caroline Bingley opposite Firth's Darcy. Heh.

I really could not have written The Cruel Ex-Wife's bit with little Margaret if not for the inspiration of book-Rebecca with Constance, from _EOR_.


End file.
